Some stories repeat themselves so often that you already know how they end. This is one of them.
A married woman who doesn't know God. Her husband falls into adultery and she, wounded, chooses the same path. He can't stand it. He comes back home, but he comes back to reproach her, to mistreat her, to make her pay every day for what she did. Then he finds another woman and leaves. Time goes by and he returns, probably because things didn't go well with the other one either. And again the reproaches. And again another lover. And again the abandonment.
Today that woman is depressed. The current lover is very young, very beautiful, and he shouts it from the rooftops: now he's finally happy.
I have seen this many times. And it usually ends the same way. The woman who accepts that kind of relationship gets disappointed, opens her eyes, or plays him a dirty trick. Then he comes back. And the cycle starts all over again.
The question is: until when?
A woman who knew what it was to have a rival
There is a woman in the Bible who knew very well what it is to have a rival. Her name was Hannah, and her story is in the first book of Samuel. Her husband, Elkanah, had another wife, Peninnah. Peninnah had given him children. Hannah couldn't have any. And every year, when they went up to the temple, her rival provoked her and made her feel less.
Hannah wept and would not eat. Does that sound familiar? Another woman who has what you don't have. Another woman who shows off. A husband who never quite understands your pain.
But look at what Hannah did not do. She didn't start competing with Peninnah. She didn't seek revenge. She didn't try to be younger or more beautiful. She got up, went into the temple and poured out her soul before God.
She prayed with such anguish that only her lips moved. The priest Eli saw her and thought she was drunk. She answered him that she wasn't:
That is what real pain looks like. Some mistake it for weakness. Some mistake it for madness. Some, like Eli, mistake it for drunkenness. But God does not mistake it.
And here is what impresses me most about Hannah: after she prayed, she went her way, ate, and her face was no longer sad (1 Samuel 1:18). She still didn't have the son. Peninnah was still in the house. Nothing had changed on the outside. She had changed.
Your battle is not against the other woman
That is what I want to say to this woman, and to anyone in her place.
Your battle is not against the other woman. You will never win a contest of youth or beauty, and you don't have to enter it. Your battle is for yourself: for your dignity, for your peace, for your place before God.
I say this from my own story. I lived in adultery, and my wife also fell into adultery. I know that cycle from the inside. But today I don't accept it or tolerate it in my life. And when she sees me acting along that line, changes happen in the relationship.
Not because one controls the other. Because you stop negotiating what God doesn't negotiate.
Drawing the line
That is drawing the line. It's not shouting. It's not taking revenge. It's not begging him to come back. It's saying, with your life and not just with words: not here, not anymore. No to infidelity. No to reproaches. No to mistreatment.
Adultery is not healed with another adultery. Contempt is not healed by competing. And a cycle is not broken by waiting for the other person to change first.
If you are that woman, begin where Hannah began. Go before God just as you are. Cry if you need to cry. Tell Him what you have never told anyone. He hears you, even if everyone around you misunderstands you.
And if the sadness no longer lets you eat, sleep or get out of bed, don't carry it alone. Reach out to someone you trust at your church, a counselor or a doctor. Asking for help is also an act of faith.
God remembered Hannah. He will remember you too. #CameToHimself